


O, speak again, bright angel

by DarkmoonSigel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Hoarding, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), but in a good way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: Aziraphale has a problem. Crowley finds out. FEELS HAPPEN.Title is from Shakespeare. I obviously don’t own.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 180





	O, speak again, bright angel

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote something nice for ya’ll. Enjoy the serotonin. Stay safe, stay well.

Aziraphale’s daily routine after the Surprising Continuation of Days didn’t vary greatly from what they had been before. Yes, there were some notable and vastly different changes made in regard to a certain demon, but Aziraphale’s personal routine had barely suffered a hiccup. Crowley was beginning to really understand this concept the more time he spent at the bookshop.

At the beginning of each day, Aziraphale watched the sun rose, like he had every day since the very beginning. Crowley only found this out after he started to stay over more often. If he fell asleep on the couch, the demon would wake to find himself tucked away upstairs in the very rarely used flat above the shop. Until recently, the space had been more used for storage than living in. That was beginning to change a little more with every passing day.

Even better, Aziraphale would join him in the bed, Crowley wrapping himself around the angel while he read, the angel using his halo as a reading light. Around the time that dawn began to creep in, the demon would wake to find Aziraphale gone, his book abandoned on the bed. With a cup of tea in hand, Aziraphale could usually be found on the roof, the first traces of light caressing his face. It turned his white hair gold, and made his skin glow, like his Grace was simmering up to his surfaces. 

Sometimes, Aziraphale sang. His songs were nothing big, showy, and particularly angelic. Crowley’s heart threatened to melt out of his chest the first time he heard Aziraphale warble out Bohemian Rhapsody, proof that the angel was spending a lot more time in the Bentley than before. Other times, Aziraphale spoke quietly, talking to Her on his own terms. No matter what though, he always thanked Her for the sunrise before departing back downstairs. 

It felt profane to intrude upon this ritual so once Crowley established that it was habit for Aziraphale to greet the day in this way, the demon left the angel to it. Aziraphale always came back to bed anyway, sun kissed warm and smelling sweet. 

Depending on what day it was, the shop would eventually be opened up, but only after much patterned puttering around, the kind of which were centuries in the making. Perhaps the funniest thing Crowley witnessed was Aziraphale counting down his till every day, whether he sold anything or not. What made it especially hilarious was how meticulous Aziraphale was about it.

The bookshop’s antique register held money going back over 200 years in it, and an assortment of hard candies from about as far back. Crowley was fairly sure that there was a brand of toffee in there that had been discontinued over sixty years ago, not that it mattered to Aziraphale. The register would never dare to run out of them. It was also somewhat treated like junk drawer. The loose princess cut sapphire, an ancient gold coin once owned by Merlin, several buttons of various design and size, a tooth of unknown origin, and a glass eyeball were also always kept, counted, and catalogued there day in and day out.

The oddest thing to Crowley though was that Aziraphale actually did one job consistently with great care and reverence. All sorts of people from every walks of life would come in with their beloved tomes, asking if there was anyway that they could be saved. Delicate fragile things whose worn pages were more air that paper. Others were drowned things, left to warp and mildew. Some came in charred, their pages filled with ash as book markers. The saddest ones were inked with blood in random places, their stories usually the saddest of the lot. 

The common theme among them was that they had all been rescued, and they were in need of a miracle to remain saved.

What was odd to Crowley was that Aziraphale never used his ethereal powers to do so. After accepting the beloved tomes as tenderly as one would a baby, the angel would use 6,000 years of formidable knowledge and experience to bring those books back from the brink.

What Aziraphale did to those books was true magic, one of the angel’s own making, in Crowley’s opinion. The demon took to keeping Aziraphale company while he worked, riveted by the process that went into healing books. 

“You really can’t find this that exciting.” Aziraphale said quietly in concentration as he painstakingly glued damaged pages back together with tweezers, glue made from the angel’s own recipe of which there were many, and a fine paintbrush, the pale bristles of it made out of Aziraphale’s own eyelashes. “As much as I love my books and such, I’m not oblivious. I realize that my day to day must seem rather dull comparatively to your own.”

“What do you know of my days?” Crowley lazily challenged, not really expecting a real answer. 

“Enough.” Was not the answer Crowley had been expecting. 

“Enough? My, my, that sounds promising.” Crowley perked up.

“How so?” Aziraphale was distracted. It was the perk time to get what he wanted. 

“What’s your basis for comparison? How do you know what the enough is?” Crowley smiled slow and wicked as a cat who had been successful in cornering a mouse. 

“Oh, drat.” Aziraphale realized he should have been paying more attention to what he was doing rather than what he was saying. 

“Have you been spying on me?” Crowley asked, sounding positively gleeful about it. 

“Don’t be absurd. I’m much too busy to do that, or I used to be.” Aziraphale sniffed, trying to salvage some of his dignity. He went weak though, upon looking over at Crowley’s beaming face. “If you must know, I followed you around for a day, one single day. Happy?”

“Over the moon!” Crowley crowed, limbs going all askew in excitement. “Angel you just can’t say something like that, and not follow it up. When? Where? Why?”

“I can’t concentrate, and talk about this at the same time. Be a love, and open a bottle. Something pink today, I think.” Aziraphale sighed, seeing no way out of this conversation now as he set his latest project aside for the time being. 

“Spill already. I’m on pins and needles here.” Crowley ordered, all but crawling into the angel’s lap with the wine and some glasses.

“Well I was here at the shop not too long ago.”

“Within this century?”

“I’ll have you know it was a little less than two decades ago. Sorry, dear, but I don’t think to mark the exact date down for you.” Aziraphale said primly, “It all started with you saying...”

“You’re as predictable as death and taxes.” Crowley said one evening around two decades ago.

“I’m not sure whether I should take that as a compliment or not.” Aziraphale said, looking up from his reading to study the inebriated demon. Crowley had popped into the shop already well into his cups.

“You can take it however you’d like. It doesn’t change the fact that I know exactly where you are, and what you are doing at any point of time in the day.” Crowley teased.

“So what you’re saying is that I’m reliable.”

“I’m saying you could teach Old Faithful a trick or two.”

“Old Faithful?”

“It’s a geyser on the Continent. Goes off all regular like.” Crowley explained, making geyser gestures to help. They didn’t. 

“I would hope so with a name like that, and for the sake of your wit.” Aziraphale said dryly. “More wine?”

“Nah. I should be heading out.” Crowley groaned as he sobered up to drive. 

He wanted Crowley to stay, and Crowley wanted to stay. They both didn’t get what either wanted as Aziraphale set aside his book to walk the demon to the door.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Apparently, you’ll know where to find me.”

“Night, angel.” 

“Goodnight, dear. Mind how you go.”

“I always do.” If Crowley said anything else, it was drowned out by the Bentley greeting him. 

🎶” Just one year of love  
Is better than a lifetime alone  
One sentimental moment in your arms  
Is like a shooting star right through my heart…”🎶 Freddie crooned, making Crowley very grateful that it was dark out, and that he had his back to Aziraphale because his face was on fire.

“Knock it off! You’re so embarrassing.” Was also unheard by Aziraphale who was still stuck on ‘one sentimental moment in your arms is like a shooting star’.

“Crowley likes stars.” Aziraphale told the shop. The bookshop knew this already, however, the building well aware of a great number of things the demon liked. There was a closet within it that was full of presents for Crowley that would have completely changed the entire decor at Crowley’s flat if Aziraphale were braver. Their closet too, another space filled to its endless corners with every type of apparel and accessory from eras going back thousands of years. 

Stunning robes and kimonos from Japan From the Edo period, embroidered so finely it looks painted. 

Custom made suits from the Regency Era that Aziraphale still felt bitter about. He had been robbed by the demon’s nap. 

Elaborate themed dresses meant for Venice’s Carnival, each more exquisite than the last, had never seen starlight. There were over a centuries worth of them. 

A headscarf made entirely from sea silk, a rare thing even in ancient days. Even rarer now, only one old woman left in the entire world who knows how to make it from the byssus of clams. Dark brown in the dark and incredibly light in weight, it shone bright gold in the light. Aziraphale often imagined how it would look with Crowley’s longer hair and serpentine eyes. 

Several pirate’s treasure sized chest full of jewelry were scattered about. A great number of the baubles within them were made from rubies, black fire opals, diamonds of rare colors, amber, all set in gold. Aziraphale thought gold looked best on Crowley’s skin. There were a great many bangles from India made of gold so pure you could press your fingers into.

Aziraphale visited these things now, letting his fingers linger over unworn velvets, silks, leathers, and linens. The most recent acquisition had come about through pure happenstance. In 1997, Aziraphale had decided to pop across the Channel from some brioche and nostalgia. While there, he stopped in at the Ritz Paris Hotel to find some sort of fashion show going on there. He stayed when a woman sauntered down the runway wearing a body clinging gold metal mesh dress that was beautiful draped to perfection over her slender body. Aziraphale sat through the rest of the show, and left with that dress. 

“I’m being ridiculous.” Aziraphale sniffed, wiping his eyes as he left this space, none the happier. The angel wandered back to the couch to start picking up. Like he always did, Aziraphale gave into temptation, pressing his lips to the rim of Crowley’s wineglass. The indirect kiss reminded him of their last conversation, and it made Aziraphale wonder about something.

What did Crowley do all day? Aziraphale knew what he did while in the angel’s company, and they had worked side by side before during plagues and such. That, and through the Arrangement, Aziraphale had a good sense of what Crowley was like when he was working, but what did he do to fill the hours all between that?

And then, Aziraphale had a very clever idea. 

His annual report was due, and Gabriel had been making snide comments about them, more so than usual. Aziraphale decided that he could ‘one stone, two birds’ these situations by spying on Crowley. 

The more he thought about it, the more Aziraphale grew on the idea. It was win-win. He could use all the miracles he wanted, even big ones, because the situation was merited. He wouldn’t even be lying a little bit if when asked, simply telling them he was keeping track of that wily old serpent with the intent to counteract his demonic plans. 

Even if Crowley caught him spying on him, all Aziraphale had to do was say “Well done, you’ve caught me. I had to write up something for my report this month. I know where you are, and what you’re doing so mission accomplished. Care for a spot of lunch?”. 

Checking the time, Aziraphale decided it was best to start this now. He didn’t know what Crowley likes to do to fill the time during the day, but the angel did know that Crowley enjoyed sleeping at night, 

Size and mass are meaningless concepts to angel and demons alike. Aziraphale could dance on the head of pin if he ever really wanted to, and still have enough room to perform the entire Gavotte, which was certainly lackluster without dance partners. 

Outside of Crowley’s flat, Aziraphale cast several miracles in a row upon himself. The first of which made him undetectable to infernal creatures such as demons. The second one made him invisible from sight and sound, and lastly, Aziraphale shrunk down his size to that of a bee. 

Winging himself up to Crowley’s flat, the angel wondered for a moment how he was going to get past Crowley’s wards without the demon noticing. He checked the front door for any gaps, but Crowley’s flat was terribly modern. There was no warped wood to crawl in from under. Aziraphale was also unsure about the true dimensions of Crowley’s wards. They might very well go under the flooring. 

Studying the door, Aziraphale noticed the ornate snake shaped doorbell. Luckily for him, angels are very strong regardless of their size so Aziraphale flew over to really put his shoulder into it. It had the desired effect, Aziraphale pressing the button multiple times in rapid succession. He knew that that would do two things. 

The first was that it would get Crowley out of bed to personally curse whoever had woken him up, and the second was that Crowley had a flair for the dramatic. Aziraphale was counting on the demon flinging his front door wide open, making the wards in the part of the flat go down. 

Abusing the bell some more just for good measure, Aziraphale left off as he heard rapid footsteps, heavy with anger, coming towards the door. He flew up near the top, and waited. Like clockwork, the door was thrown open with a BOOM, creating a crack in the wards.

“WHA-“ Crowley was ready to start in on whoever to be met with a whole lot of nothing, the demon poking his head out to look down the halls. While he did that, Aziraphale flew in overhead, completely unnoticed and undetected. 

“Bloody Hell, that was all you?!” Present Crowley shouted at the very smug angel. 

“Afraid so.” Aziraphale wiggled, still pleased as punch about it. “Don’t be cross with me. It wasn’t like you couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“Fine. Continue.” Crowley motioned for the angel to get on with it. He also made a mental note to adjust his wards. Hell wasn’t anywhere as clever as Aziraphale was, but any breach in security needed to be attended to. 

“I don’t know if I should.” The angel was beginning to fret, which was never a good thing. 

“Why not? It’s just getting good.”

“Do you remember how you woke up that morning?”

“Vaguely.” Crowley almost never remembered in what state he woke up in. That’s what showers and coffee were for. 

“Would you like me to skip ahead?” Aziraphale asked a little too hopefully. 

“No, I wouldn’t like that at all, and you had better not leave anything out.” Crowley was wracking his brain, but coming up with nothing. It would seem that all the answers laid within the angel. “Promise me.”

“I-“ Aziraphale looked pained, “l promise, my dear.”

Invisible, bee-sized Aziraphale flew to Crowley’s bedroom, and waited for him there. It was as minimalist as the rest of the flat. Dark walls only contained a plain nightstand and a large bed that looked soft. It was covered with an assortment of black satin covered pillows and blankets. They matched Crowley’s pajamas, which were far more conservative than Aziraphale had ever imagined. 

Knocking back some scotch to place the glass and bottle on the nightstand, Crowley flopped down on his bed, grumbling about Hastur and other beings of Hell. Aziraphale was surprised that he didn’t have to wait long, the demon falling back to sleep pretty much immediately. 

Floating down, Aziraphale landed on the edge of the pillow. He couldn’t recall a time when he had ever been this close to Crowley, the angel studying the slumbering serpent. It was so intimate, Aziraphale counting every one of Crowley’s eyelashes and freckles. 

“Considering how much you sleep, you don’t make it look comfortable, my dear.” Aziraphale sighed as Crowley’s face took on a pained expression.

Taking to wing again, Aziraphale flew up to Crowley’s forehead to place the tiniest of forehead kisses to it. “Dream about whatever you like best.” He said, figuring a little miracle couldn’t hurt. 

It worked for a time, Crowley’s expressions far more pleasant and restful. In his rush to implement his plan, Aziraphale found himself quite bereft of any books, and he didn’t want to risk doing another miracle so close to Crowley. Sweet dreams were one thing. Transportation was another matter entirely. 

All that left Aziraphale to do was watch Crowley. Aziraphale wondered if the demon knew that he twitched in his sleep, and would occasionally mumble out nonsense, or at least it was all gibberish until Crowley rolled onto stomach. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley moaned out as he ground his hips down on the bed, almost dislodging Aziraphale from the pillow. 

“It would appear I’m what he likes best.” Aziraphale said, feeling his face burn as Crowley got louder, his thrusts starting to shake the bed. 

“Aziraphale, please...” Crowley sighed, his fingers clutching blindly at the sheets as he writhed. “Please...”

Aziraphale didn’t know what he was expecting to hear next. Possible ‘more’ or ‘harder’ was to be expected, but “please say you love me, angel” was not one of them. 

Crowley was crying in his sleep now, his thrusts matching the pounding of Aziraphale’s heart. It won out for once, over the fear, over the sense of Heavenly duty. Aziraphale’s heart had him winging over to the shell of Crowley’s ear, the tiny angel leaning over it like it were a wishing well.

“I love you.” Aziraphale whispered, his words the coins needed to breach Crowley’s surface. The demon came with an allover body tensing gasp.

“I love you...” Crowley breathed out before falling back into a deeper sleep. The rest of the night past uneventfully, something Aziraphale was grateful for, the angel hiding himself away among the demon’s garden. He cried himself out there, the plants doing their best to console the angel, growing and blooming all around him.

“I guess I can put that little mystery to bed.” Present Crowley said tightly in a quiet voice, staring down at his wine glass. “They’re not supposed to have blooms.”

“I can stop if you’d like. It was a horrid invasion of privacy. I should have left. I’m s-

“Don’t you dare apologize!” Crowley reacted, getting up out of his seat to shout at the angel.

“But,” Aziraphale blinked. The demon had every right to be angry, but it wasn’t that particular emotion that held Crowley in its grips. 

“Don’t apologize for saying you-you...”Crowley trailed off odd, sounding like he was bound to break. 

“Oh, my darling, I do.” Aziraphale caught on, getting up to collect Crowley in his arms to hold him tight. The demon was who looking brittle around his edge melted into the embrace. “I always have.”

Crowley pulled back, wearing a scared complicated look upon his face, like he wanted to believe the angel, but didn’t want to run the risk of being wrong. It wounded Aziraphale to see it. Intentionally or not, he’d had a hand in its creation.

“My darling, I want you to close your eyes.”

“Why?” Crowley croaked out, the tongue already beginning to deeply fork. 

“Please?” Aziraphale asked, pleading in the way the demon could never resist.

Crowley acquiesced, closing his eyes. He allowed himself to led elsewhere, though he knew they were still in the bookshop. From the taste of it, they entering one of the angel’s infinite rooms. 

“Open your eyes, love.”

Crowley hadn’t known what to expect, but a literal material sea of black, grey, reds, and the occasional dash of other colors was not it.

“What’s all this?” Crowley didn’t know even where to begin looking first. 

“Your closet.”

“My what?”

“Clothing and such. Things I’ve bought for you through the years, centuries, millennia really, but was always too cowardly to give to you.” 

“Oh, Aziraphale,” It was organized chaos. It appeared that some sort of organization had been attempted. Feminine presenting clothing was to the left, masculine presenting clothing was to the right, and ‘it could go either way’ was in the middle, but much like the bookshop, it had really gotten out of hand. 

“I know it’s foolish, but I need you to believe me that you were always on my mind and in my hearts.” Now that he was letting it out, Aziraphale couldn’t make it stop. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley tried, but the angel seemed committed to getting this out of himself. He cried as he did so, knitting his hands together. 

“I built the flat over the bookshop with you in mind. I always hoped if I gave you reasons to stay you would.” Aziraphale get going, not caring if he sounded pathetic. In for a penny, in for a pound, and all that. “Filled it with things you liked. A bed, pillows, blankets, wine, scotch, music, windows that get the best sun...”

Crowley couldn’t even form words anymore, didn’t try to, both of them crying now as things fell into places. Sunlight wasn’t good for Old books, but there were places that light poured in. There had always been a bed up in the flat although Aziraphale didn’t sleep. 

“I’ve been so terrible to you.” The angel’s shame was a tangible thing. Enough so that it brought words back to the demon. 

“Don’t say that.“ There was something profane about an angel feeling shame. Demons were well versed in it, but it didn't feel right in Aziraphale. 

“I have. Absolutely horrid.” Aziraphale wept.

“Angel, the Apocalypse was happening. Everything was literally going to Hell in a hand-basket. No one was at their best.” Crowley reached out to catch the angel’s hands to unbraid his fingers before Aziraphale hurt himself. 

“I’m not asking you to forgive me.” Aziraphale sounded small, and Crowley hated that more than anything in Above, Below, and everything else in-between. Heaven had made Aziraphale feel small. 

Reaching over to cup the sad angel’s face, Crowley made Aziraphale look him straight in the eyes. “You don’t need to ask. You’ve already been forgiven.” And then Crowley kissed his angel long and sweet, the two pressed so closely together God was tempted in that moment to make them into one being. 

“I love you.” Aziraphale when they finally separated. 

“I know, angel. I know. Love you back.” Crowley said as he kissed golden tears off of red cheeks, reaching a long limb over to snag a handkerchief, one of hundreds. “Might as well make use of them now.” He said as he cleaned them up. 

“Mmm, yes. I let things get out of hand a bit.”

“Ya think?” Crowley said, having a slower look around of what was just near them. The room went on for ages in every sense of the word. “Wish I’d known you had a thing for dress up. Some of these are Quite posh. Holy hell, is that Versace? 

“What? That gold dress?“

“Yes, that fucking gold dress.”

“Picked it up in Paris back in ‘97. They were having a show at the Ritz there.”“

“You stumbled upon Gianna Versace’s last haute couture show, and managed to get a dress from it?”

“Well, yes. I am an angel. It wasn’t all that hard.” Aziraphale given Crowley a look, like anyone was going to keep the angel out of something he wanted to be apart of. “Saw it, and had to get it for you.”

“Would you like me to put it on?” Crowley running hands through their hair to lengthen it. Aziraphale blushed hotly in answer, tugging at his bow tie as the angel looked anywhere else, but the demon.

“I take that as a yes.” Crowley purred already slipping out of her clothing. She was in no rush now. Gifts of clothing was gifts of possession, and from the looks of it, Aziraphale had wanted to possess the demon since before togas were a thing. Warmth filled the empty spaces in the demon at the realization. There was so much history here, so much intent, so much to explore. There were gowns of great expense here that would have taken months, if not years, to make. Everything single article of clothing here had been made for Crowley by legions of craftsmen. It was quite a thrilling thing to think about.

The Versace dress was like a second skin on her, the demon reaching to turn the angel to face her. 

“Oh my, you’re magnificent.” Aziraphale said, his hands nervously doing their dance of unnecessary straightening. 

“I’m not done. I need shoes and jewelry. Why don’t you pick them out for me while I do my makeup? I think you’d like that.”

Exquisite hair jewelry from India was placed ever so gently in her long hair that glittered from all the rubies worked into it, and golden shoes from a long dead craftsman in Italy was procured. All of which was placed upon Crowley’s person with the gentlest hands, and the most reverent of touches.

“You like me in gold.” Crowley observed. There was quite a bit of it. Yes, the angel had kept to their everyday color palette of black and red, but there was a fair amount of gold to counterbalance that. The kimonos were a particularly interesting choice, most of them in blues and greens. 

“Matches your eyes.” Aziraphale murmured, kneeling so he could slip the demon’s feet into gold sandals that were held in place with intricate lacings that made Crowley’s ankles look delicate. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest that they fit perfectly, or that Aziraphale knew how to type them up in the correct manner. 

“You like my eyes?” It was usually a touchy subject matter.

“No, I love your eyes. Love everything about you.“ Aziraphale told the demon’s toes.

“Even the bad bits?“ Crowley said as she put a finger under the angel’s chin to make him look up at her. She tried for light hearted, but it ended coming out in all seriousness. 

“Especially the bad bits.“ Aziraphale with a wobbly smile and wet eyes. “Always have. I suspect, I always will.”

“Don’t make my cry again. I just did my makeup, you soppy old angel.” Crowley drew away so she could fan her eyes with flapping hands. 

“Will you dance with me?” Aziraphale rose to offer the demon his hand when it was safe to do so.

“Of course, I will, angel. I’m just surprised you know how.” Crowley smiled.

“Just the gavotte, but I thinking more of a slow dance for now.“

“Rhythmically swaying to music? I think I can manage that, you snake charming bastard.” Crowley laughed softly as they returned to the front to find music already playing for them. 

“Nice choice.”

Aziraphale was going to say something back, he was sure of it, but immediately became distracted. Crowley, his beautiful Crowley gilded in gold, was now in his arms, her hands at his shoulder and waist, the demon smiling at him. 

“I’ll tell you later. Don’t keep me in suspense. Finish your story. How do I fill my days, angel?” 

“Well, about that...”

“Fucking hell, I’m been sleeping in my own jizz.” Past Crowley groaned down at the sticky wet spot that tried to glue him to the bed. “Major design flaw if you ask me.” He yelled up at God who thought it was hilarious. 

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! What’s happened to you lot? Since when do you flower?” To the demon’s ire, the plants barely trembled. Angel tears did what threats and fertilizer couldn’t. Waiting until Crowley stormed off to the bathroom because apparently he enjoyed to shower in the morning, Aziraphale blessed the plants in thanks.

Aziraphale rejoined a fully ready for the day Crowley, alighting atop his head to nestle down two artfully coifed locks. He listened in on the demon’s mutterings, of which there were many. Apparently, Crowley was just as noisy with himself as with others as he scrolled through his phone. He eventually ended up making a cup of coffee, resting his fluid bones on that ridiculous throne of his as he turned on the television to leave it on the news.

“Mmmm...Nothing really going on worth claiming. Looks like I’ll have to head out today, and stir up some trouble.” Crowley grumbled into his coffee as he glared at the useless news. “Annual flower festival going on in Midsommer though. Angel will love that. Will have to bring it up when I see him tonight.”

Aziraphale got to find out that Crowley’s driving was just as terrifying bee sized as it was when he was a proper passenger.

Crowley’s first stop for the day was to an expansive chocolate shop. Aziraphale was well familiar with it, it being one of his favorites. 

“Welcome back! We were just thinking about you.” Said a cheerful woman behind the counter. Her name tag stated that she was a Vanessa. 

“Hopefully, only in the wickedest ways possible.” Crowley said easily back, obviously a regular. 

“Like I don’t know you buy all those chocolates for your angel.” Vanessa teased, Aziraphale feeling Crowley blush a bit beneath him. “In fact, you’re going to love this next bit.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Voila! White chocolate strawberry champagne truffles. We’re calling them Pink Angel truffles.”

“Voila, indeed! I’ll take the lot.” Crowley grinned, “And give me that big fancy looking box too.”

“You don’t usually do the presorted. What’s the occasion?”

“Just a work thing. Need something nice, eye catching, you know.”

“Nothing’s more eye catching than a big shiny gold box with a glittery bow on it.” Vanessa nodded, as she rung him up. “We’ll be seeing you again soon, yeah?”

“You’ll know I’ll turn back up like a bad penny.”

“Good. We’ll have something new by then for your angel.”

Aziraphale was torn between staying in the Bentley to sneak a taste of those Pink Angel truffles, or finding out why Crowley seemed so intent on entering some enormous office building. The demon put on a generic delivery service vest, making a fancy gold embellished card and pen appear to jot something down before attaching the ostentatious card to the chocolates.

When stopped by security, Crowley pulled out his ‘get-into-anywhere’ piece of paper, showing the guard his vest and chocolates. The paper was blank, but if shown to someone situationally, the card would say what was exactly needed in that the moment. Funny thing though, Crowley claimed that it wasn’t his demonic doing, that it was a gift from some time traveler. Wherever it came from, it worked. 

Crowley next step was to hang out in the lobby, fiddling with his phone. It soon became clear that the demon had been waiting for the secretary to leave, Crowley nonchalantly dropping off the gold box in their absence on the counter with the note’s message bold as brass for anyone to read.

-To the most beautiful person of the office-

It was an old favorite of Crowley, a real classic that had originated with the Greeks. Aziraphale had seen him use it before on both large and small scales, and it worked every time. Leave a note like that on something highly prized with a group of humans, and they would do all the demonic work for him. 

Aziraphale waited until Crowley’s back was turned and well on his way out, the tiny angel zipping back to the note. With a finger snap that only God Herself could hear, he changed the note.

-To Stella, who keeps our office beautiful-

Flying back to Crowley as fast as he could, but without trying to cause a sonic boom, Aziraphale was only seconds too late, Crowley already back in the car.

“Sugar.” Aziraphale swore, “How am I going to keep up with him driving like a madman?”

But then, the Bentley refused to turn on. It flat out wouldn’t start. 

“Oi, what’s with you?” Crowley asked his car, trying the key again. The Bentley was steadfastly not moving though. Aziraphale got his chance to rejoin, the demon exited the car to walk round it.

🎶” Friends will be friends,  
When you're through with life and all hope is lost  
Hold out your hand 'cause right till the end,  
friends will be friends“🎶 the Bentley blasted as soon as Crowley got back in, the car starting right up. 

“What was that all about?” Crowley fussed,“Even my car is pranking me now. Grand.”

Aziraphale had gotten past the flat’s wards, but had forgotten that the Bentley had its unique own. The car was letting the angel know that it knew he was there, and that they weren’t leaving without him. 

“So you spent an entire day just following me around, canceling everything out?” Crowley laughed, the two of them getting drunk on very good champagne. They cuddled in the bed Crowley knew now was hers all along. The the demon sat very securely in the angel’s lap, feeding Aziraphale the Pink Angel truffles. She liked how it made his lips and kisses taste. 

“Most of it.”

“Which means not all of it. What did you let slide?”

“Coins.” Was muttered. 

“Come again?”

“Coins.” Was said a little bit louder.

“In English this time, and loud enough for the people in the back?” Crowley touched a finger to her ear, though they both knew she could hear him perfectly well. 

“Coins!” Aziraphale complied, “I left them glued to the sidewalk!”

“Why?” Crowley questioned as guilt pinked the angel’s face, the demon figuring it out. “You like it! You think it’s funny.”

“All right, fine! Yes, I do. I’ve enjoyed it since you started doing so after the creation of the coin.”

“Not angelic of you. Watching human struggle.” Crowley snickered.

“Oh, I don’t watch them. I take no pleasure in that at all.” Aziraphale said in all seriousness. 

“Then what do you like about it so much?” Crowley rolled her eyes. 

“I enjoy watching you. I love how happy it makes you.”

“You soppy old angel, get me out of this dress. Don’t think for a moment that I didn’t notice that mountain of lingerie in the back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Your kudos eat all the Pink Angels. Your comments hang out with the Bentley.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] Good Omens: O Speak Again, Bright Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275688) by [SkyAsimaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyAsimaru/pseuds/SkyAsimaru)




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